Lessons Learned
by IstariannaCrudgo
Summary: In the early days of the expedition, Major Sheppard conducts basic self defence training among the civilians on Atlantis, but the deceitful appearances of one Scottish doctor lead to an unplanned lesson for John.


"Alright recruits," Sheppard said, smirking a little at the tongue-in-cheek term as he observed the aforementioned people standing in front of him.

A handful of the base's doctors watched him with expressions ranging between resenting and bored.

The young Atlantis Expedition had only just had their first few encounters with the dangers of the Pegasus Galaxy, and as the unwilling new Military Commander of said expedition, Major Sheppard had decided on mandatory self-defence classes for all non-military personnel. As the orchestrator of these lessons, he felt it only fair that he lead his fair share of what was sure to be an annoying and boring series of hand-to-hand combat lessons.

McKay, Beckett, Zelenka, and Weir all made some noise of recognition; McKay annoyed and Weir with a hint of amusement.

"Now Weir was kind enough to brief me on your personal files and the levels of training you've had that can possibly be counted as a base skill level in combat," Sheppard said. There was no point in introductions- they all knew why they were here, and the sooner this was over and done with, the sooner Sheppard could get back to the real work he needed to do. "You all seem to be at an average beginners level so we'll start with the basics."

Sheppard walked to stand beside Weir, then took a ready stance, left leg forward, right leg back, knees bent, and fists held up protectively at his face. "This is a basic fighting stance anyone can learn and adapt; balanced, and with a hidden power. Take up the stance now."

With a sigh, McKay did his best to mimic the stance, as did Weir and Zelenka. Beckett seemed to move easily into it.

"Fists up higher McKay, they can't protect you down there," Sheppard said, and McKay sighed again as he lifted his balled hands to the appropriate hight. "Better. Weir, your legs are too far apart, Zelenka, legs too close together." With a cock of the head, John realised there was nothing to critique in Beckett's stance. "See, Beckett's got it." He kept the incredulity out of his voice.

"Alright, now the power in this stance comes from being able to put the force of your full body into the first punch you throw, like _so_." Pushing with his right leg, twisting his torso, Sheppard drove his right fist in an uppercut, ending with his fist in the air and his right foot landing on the ground forward of his left, still perfectly balanced. "In the upward curve, you'd hit the jaw of your assailant, knocking them off balance, and, if you get enough force into it, possibly knock them unconscious. This should always be the goal; the less energy you spend in the fight, the more you have to run away. But don't worry if you don't get them with the first strike, no matter how many hits it takes, incapacitated is incapacitated."

Straightening up and turning to face them, he then gave them an encouraging smile. "Now let me see those fists."

As his students held out their closed hands, he inspected and corrected them. The fist Rodney had made would have broken his wrist if he managed to get any force behind it.

"Okay, now strike at the air, and don't get unbalanced."

Predictably, Zelenka tried to put too much force behind his strike and fell over. There was always one rookie who made that mistake, Sheppard had observed.

After the tedium of teaching a few basic forms, Sheppard armed them with strapping tape, boxing gloves, and set them loose against boxing bags, calling what form to use, and drilled them for the next half hour.

"Okay, everyone take a break," Sheppard called when the four were good and sweaty, "make sure to drink lots of water, we aren't done yet."

"Oh come _on_ ," McKay complained, "we know how to throw a punch now, which wasn't that much of a mystery in the first place, can we get back to our real jobs?"

"Not that much of a mystery?" Sheppard asked. "Your fist was so tight and misheld you would have broken your own bones, making it easier for whoever was attacking you to cart you off for whatever nefarious purposes they had. Even what you've learned so far is not going to do much against anything more than your average schoolyard bully."

"Yeah, but isn't that the point of people like you being on the expedition?" McKay pushed.

"Okay, you know what, actions speak louder than words. I don't want to break you or anything, so we'll have a volunteer from the crowd to show you just how far these basic forms go. Beckett, you seem to have a firm grasp on them, so step up."

Beckett, looking surprised at being called on, held up his hands. "Now just a minute son, you know I'm not a fighting man."

Sheppard pulled him forward to the sparring mats. "Just let the Scott in you take over for a moment," he said with a smile.

For half a second, Weir looked like she was going to say something, then changed her mind. She stood watching with a small smile, like someone who knows they're in for a treat but don't want to spoil the surprise.

Beckett took the first stance Sheppard had demonstrated. "Well alright, but you know I-"

"Duly noted," Sheppard cut him off. "Now pay attention everyone. Beckett, you have the first move."

The Highland doctor took a deep breath, then his eyes narrowed and he ducked and weaved, making a surprisingly convincing feint. Anyone focusing purely on the Scott's body language would have been fooled, but, watching the man's eyes, Sheppard had seen Beckett's attention fixated on Sheppard's arms; not his midriff as the fake-out would have him believe. Now on the back foot, Sheppard regarded the doctor with a sense that he had missed something. _So much for a startling example of what McKay was up against._ Beckett was making it look like going toe-to-toe with a trained professional in hand-to-hand was, well, no sweat.

Then again, Beckett wasn't using many of the techniques they'd been going over in the last hour. The Scott darted forward, trying to grasp at Sheppard's arms, the sort of thing the Major had been trying to teach them _not_ to do. The focus was supposed to be knock back your attacker and get out of danger.

"I'm supposed to be the one doing the catching and subduing here, doc," Sheppard said with a laugh.

"Doc's not here," Beckett replied, successfully locking arms with Sheppard. "You wanted the Scott, remember?"

Invoking Beckett's ancestry may not have been the brightest idea.

They continued to grapple, each seeking an advantage over the other, and Sheppard gave another laugh of surprise. John might be all corded, hard-formed muscle, but he was also admittedly narrow-framed, and the doc had strength that belied his stature. In this scuffle, Beckett's wider frame was to his advantage, and he tipped the two of them to the ground with a triumphant growl over Sheppard's "Hang on-"

Wrestling one another on the ground, Sheppard grouched. "Thought you were a doctor?"

"And I thought you'd read our files," Beckett retorted.

With McKay and Zelenka egging him on, Beckett got Sheppard in a headlock. "In wrestling this is where you tap out," he said informatively. And _that_ was when John remembered a note in Beckett's file; the Scott had been on his university's wrestling team. From the strength of his grip around Sheppard's head, with his leg pegging John's own legs down, he must have been pretty good at it too. Sheppard's hands could find no purchase on Beckett's arms, and couldn't break the headlock.

Beckett was stoic, merely pushing his head back when Sheppard tried to reach his face. But if the doc thought he was going to beat Sheppard in this public test of wills, he was mistaken. There was no way Sheppard was tapping out.

Sensing Sheppard's rebellious stubbornness, Beckett really began applying the pressure. "Come on, lad."

"No," Sheppard grunted.

"Just tap out."

"No."

"You're being daft." Beckett tightened his grip further, now slightly impeding Sheppard's airways.

Wriggling, grunting, and starting to struggle, Sheppard shook his head as much as he could. "Important teaching moment!" he gasped.

"Yes," doctor Weir agreed, "but not for us, Major." Sheppard could hear the smile in her voice.

Sheppard scrabbled further at Beckett's iron grip, but a roaring noise was starting to fill his ears. He knew of one surefire way to get free, but it would involve breaking the good doctor's nose, and John's pride wasn't worth _that_. But he still was not going to tap out. Beckett had to let go soon. Sheppard knew enough of the man to know he wouldn't actually harm him, it was just a matter of stubbornness on both sides. Sheppard just had to call Beckett's bluff.

"Major, come on now," Beckett said, sounding worried but still not letting go.

 _Knew it!_ The Scott had to give up soon. Black started to encroach on his vision, his head was spinning and then-

"Stubborn bugger."

Beckett released the headlock, very gently laying Sheppard's head and torso flat on the mats.

"Nice deep breaths now," the physician said, and Sheppard obeyed, not gasping but breathing from the diaphragm, pulling each breath down to his stomach and releasing it slowly.

"So the lesson here," McKay said gleefully, "is to bring Beckett, not Sheppard, to a fight."

"I bloody well think not!" exclaimed Beckett. "You're not getting me to go carting off through that bloody Stargate every damn day! No, the lesson is that the Major is a stubborn little bugger and needs to pay more attention to what he reads!"

Mostly recovered, Sheppard sat up. "You know I could have gotten out of that headlock at any moment."

McKay scoffed, but Beckett, leaning over where he was sitting next to Sheppard on the mats, snatched a water bottle and gave it to the Major, saying, "yes, and I thank you for not demonstrating it; I like my nose the way it is."

Taking a long drink, Sheppard then wiped his mouth and looked up to Weir, McKay, and Zelenka. "If you ever find yourself in a situation like that, try and get your arms under theirs before they get a grip so you have leverage against them, or failing that, you can throw your head back into theirs. Skulls make good bludgeons in a bind."

"You really are a stubborn bugger aren't you?" Beckett said with a sigh.

Sheppard gave a wry smile. "Sorry, but yeah."

Beckett nodded to himself. "Ah, it's probably a good thing. We earthlings need to be a stubborn bunch out here if we're going to survive."

Sheppard gave a laugh he didn't feel, a smile that didn't reach his eyes. They had a long, arduous road ahead, full of unknown dangers. But moments like this, with the various, diverse members of the expedition, made him feel like maybe they could make it. Wrapping up the lesson an hour later, John walked away with a new level of understanding and respect between himself and the wrestling Scottish doctor named Carson Beckett.

AN: Another one that struck my fancy, this was inspired by a recent interview I read with Paul McGillion where the fact that he had been on the Brock University wrestling team came up, and he talked about a boys night out that led to "much tomfoolery including a bit of grappling." and "I got him [Joe Flanigan] in a choke hold but he's such a stubborn bugger, he almost passed out before he tapped out." After laughing delightedly at this information, this fic formed in my mind, and it was so fun I had to go for it. You can find the interview, Ten Questions with Paul McGillion at From the Desk, where they've been interviewing many of Stargate's actors across the series in light of the Drive to Revive on Twitter.


End file.
